


Waiting

by themantlingdark



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 19:54:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16898901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themantlingdark/pseuds/themantlingdark
Summary: Arranged marriage AU. Laufey abuses his spouse and son in an attempt to insult Asgard. The plan backfires.





	Waiting

1 Living

 

Farbauti will give birth in the dungeon beneath the palace.

He was so pleased when he first realized he was with child, and he was so comfortable as consort, it never occurred to him to be careful.

He had told Laufey of his pregnancy as soon as he learned of it himself.

At six months, Farbauti's breasts were still swelling but his belly hadn't rounded at all. Laufey knew the child would be a runt, and that Farbauti would be likely to bear others, so he had his spouse imprisoned.

Farbauti's realm feels foreign to him. He cannot fathom how his husband's love for him could die so swiftly. How the child they had conceived so happily together could be unwelcome. Could be disappointing before it had even drawn breath. He had thought the talk of tiny children was nothing more than a myth, for he'd never heard of it happening in his lifetime. And he certainly didn't believe they'd be condemned to death.

Farbauti is heartbroken. He is also fierce and practical. Weeping will change nothing. Sadness and hopelessness could hurt his baby. He won't punish his child for the foolishness of his father. He thinks of the future, and of how to ensure that his son will live to see it.

The birth is easy, as the baby is so small. Nursing is tricky for the same reason. And there is too much milk for a child so tiny. Farbauti expresses the excess and drinks it himself so that he will keep producing.

Laufey comes only once after Loki is born. To tell Farbauti that he has promised the child to the son of his enemy. Odin's wife, Frigga, has just given birth as well, and Odin has suggested they make an alliance by marriage.

Laufey also informs Farbauti that the entire realm knows his womb is fertile soil for failure. That his beauty marked a curse, not a blessing.

“None here will ever love you or give you shelter when you're old,” Laufey warns.

Farbauti says nothing, but when Laufey leaves, he ducks his head down to kiss the tiny baby that is held to his breast by one hand.

“Our first victory,” Farbauti whispers, and he can't stop grinning.

It's better than Farbauti had ever let himself hope.

He had been certain Loki would be taken from him by force and thrown out onto the ice. At best, he hoped they'd be thrown out together.

But, instead, he's free to kiss and cuddle and coo at his son to his heart's content. His cell is quiet and Loki is nursing. Life is almost sweet, despite the cramped space and the meager comforts. The baby has nearly everything he needs, so he is happy. He has no way of knowing what he's missing.

As Loki grows, Farbauti toys with the idea of lying to his son. Making their life into something better than it is. But to make it all a game would let Loki trust his captors. And that is too dangerous. So Farbauti tells him every ugly truth. And when Loki knows it all, Loki asks his father to tell him the lovely things too, so that they'll have a reason for living, because if this is all there is, then Loki isn't interested. He wants to know what guarantee there is that Laufey isn't going to murder them at any moment – or at the wedding. Why he should believe that the Aesir won't kill them on sight, either.

Farbauti tells his son that Odin is not one to court war, and that Laufey is too lazy to keep them alive only to kill them. That Loki is meant to be an insult, both to Farbauti and to the Aesir.

“And am I?” Loki asks.

“No,” Farbauti answers, instantly. “Laufey is blinded by his own hate. He cannot fathom love in others.”

“But will Thor love me?” Loki whispers, and Farbauti sighs.

“That I cannot say. If he is wise, then he will, and his parents both possess great wisdom, so that is promising. But, if nothing else, think of this: the enemy of your enemy is your friend.”

When Loki is little, Farbauti can trick him into eating most of the food, but Loki is clever, and soon sees the deception. He refuses to eat anything if he deems the portions unfair. Farbauti always begs him to relent, but Loki won't budge.

“Without you, I'll have nothing,” Loki argues.

“You'll have life, my lovely fool,” Farbauti sighs.

“We have wildly different definitions of what constitutes 'life.'”

Farbauti snorts.

They pace their cell for exercise, but they are fed so little they can't afford to move too much.

They begin luring and trapping vermin to supplement their diet, eating everything but the fur and guts, which they dispose of in the bucket that serves as their chamber pot. They know the guards won't be thorough enough to hunt through their excrement for the secret of their survival.

Loki is forever asking his father to tell him lovely tales to make his hateful life worth living. Farbauti mines his memory for every morsel of beauty.

There are some things Loki asks about over and over.

The sea.

The stars.

Libraries.

Poetry.

Warriors.

Wedding nights.

Farbauti warns that his explanations can do justice to none of these things, so Loki had best be prepared to live long enough to see them for himself.

Heimdall, Odin, and Frigga know. They send endless requests for the company of the consort and the prince, but they all go refused. And to force it would mean war. So they wait. They tell little to Thor: only that he will have a husband, the prince of Jotunheim, if he is lucky.

Laufey's patience lasts twenty years.

He longs to insult the Allfather and to steal the joy from Asgard's heir.

He's delighted when Odin agrees, without hesitation, that the marriage should be made at once.

When the wedding day arrives, Frigga seeks her son in his room.

Thor has scrubbed himself so clean he's pink from the scouring. He's standing before a mirror with his lower lip between his teeth, combing his hair, braiding it, finding invisible faults with his work, and starting over again.

Frigga sees notes from Thor's friends on the tiny table beside him. Offering their congratulations and wishing him well. Asking to meet his husband when they're done honeymooning.

The queen smiles at Thor fondly as she comes up behind him and takes the comb from his hands.

Thor can see her face over his shoulder in the mirror.

She looks sad.

“What's wrong?” Thor asks. “You're gaining a son, not losing one, remember?”

And Frigga can't resist returning her son's smile. And pinching his bottom. He's still so young in the face of all the centuries she's seen. She indulges herself with him. Babies him a bit.

“I need you to look to the future,” Frigga says.

“I lack your gift,” Thor sighs, shaking his head and loosening his last attempt at a braid.

“What happens today will bring you joy,” Frigga tells him. “How it happens will bring you sorrow. I need you to see through the sorrow to the joy that's coming.”

“Is Loki in danger?”

“No. With each passing moment he is safer than he has ever been.”

“And the realms are safe?”

“Aye.”

“Mama, what is it?” Thor whispers.

“In war one expects horror,” she warns, and Thor's face pales. “In peace it will shock even a seasoned soldier. The worst wounds bring tears, not blood. Weep now, but not at your wedding. Don't wound your husband's pride. He's had enough of that.”

Thor follows his mother's instructions while she hums an old lullaby and fixes his hair.

  


2 Wedding

 

The party from Jotunheim is small.

Thor waits at the foot of the throne and watches them approach.

He sees Laufey. He knows him by his armor and position as much as anything. Jotun battle-wear is based on past achievements, not practicality. Each plate is a medal that commemorates a deed or a victory. The skins you wear have to be from kills you made, tanned by your own hands.

Laufey walks at the head of the party, flanked by two heavily decorated elders.

Behind them, four giants hold wide leather panels that serve as curtains, hiding the groom. Thor can hear another set of feet trailing behind.

Thor is flanked by his mother and father.

There is no one else here.

Frigga warned Thor weeks ago that this would be the case. It irritated him until he saw Frigga's face this morning in his mirror and heard what she had to say. The room is uneasy. Thor is relieved no one else will be subjected to this uncomfortable tension. Laufey's air is hostile.

The two groups bow and the Jotnar who bear the leather screens step aside. Laufey and his attendants follow suit, forming tall columns of blue on either side of the tiny Aesir trio.

Thor remembers his manners and wills himself to smile as he bows low.

Loki is before him wearing only his skin. Behind him, Farbauti sways on his feet in a tattered old piece of hide. Thor realizes that Farbauti's footsteps were the ones he heard bringing up the rear as the procession made its way through the hall. The consort stoops and takes his son's hand, walking him forward to give him away.

Thor's first thought was that Loki was still a child, and a sweat of nausea broke out over his skin. Then he remembered that he and Loki are the same age.

Loki is tiny. Slightly shorter than Thor. But his proportions are not entirely that of a boy. His skull is the same size as Thor's. But the rest of him looks prepubescent. His genitals are still small. His hips and shoulders are narrow. And Loki is dangerously thin. Farbauti, too. Thor can see all their bones showing clearly in the clean spots on their bodies where they washed themselves as best they could. Their skin is pallid beside the streaks of filth that paint their forms. Their flesh has not been kissed blue by the snow and burnished indigo by the wind. They have their free hands held over their eyes to shield them from the light, but Thor can see the tears streaming down their cheeks from the sting of having to peer through their fingers to see where they're going.

Thor nearly cries.

Loki has black hair like Farbauti's. It's brittle and thin. Their scalps show through at the crown. Frigga said Farbauti was famed for his beauty. Thor can still see why. Can picture his long hair streaming behind him as he sprinted after his quarry. See how his light frame would let him run his prey to the ground over a course of hours while his heavier companions would be spent from a sprint. Farbauti has stunning proportions and delicate features. Long legs. Enormous eyes. One of his ancestors had been elvish. A blessing for Farbauti that became a curse for his son: that's where Loki got his stature. But a gift, too, for there are no beings in the realms more resilient than elves. Thor would bet the throne that full-blooded Jotnar could not have endured what the two bodies before him have survived.

Thor has never seen forms as starved as these. The lower halves of their limbs are wider than the upper portions because there are two bones there to stretch the skin. Their ribs show all the way across their breasts. Their bellies are sunken and resting in the hollows of their hips as if exhausted. Their eye sockets are entirely visible and their lower lids hang loose, giving them a haunted and woeful look. The eyes themselves are large and liquid. All those tiny secret muscles that make the face so mobile have been brought out of hiding by the absence of fat. The complexity of the hands and feet is astounding. And tragic.

The Jotnar look like more like birds than giants. Thor wishes they had been born with wings that would have let them fly from their fate.

Odin taps the end of Gungnir on the ground and the room darkens to suit the senses of its occupants.

Thor's legs have started shaking.

He's glad that most of the giants are so tall they won't be able to see it.

But everyone can see the clouds that are forming against the ceiling, and they can hear the thunder bouncing through the hall after each tiny flicker of lightning.

Thor feels his mother cast a spell to turn the rain into snow and he offers his silent thanks to her. He hadn't meant to call the storm and, as hard as he tries, he can't send it away. He feels like a child wetting the bed after years out of diapers.

When the snow hits Loki's skin, he makes a quiet noise of pleasure. He has never felt it before.

Thor likes this sound. He intends for his spouse to make it every day for the rest of their lives.

Odin is in no mood for ceremony or pleasantries. He steps down to stand beside the two trembling princes.

“Loki, son of Farbauti and heir to Laufey's throne,” Odin begins, and Thor see's the Jotun king's eyes go wide. “Will you wed Thor, Odinson, Friggajarson, and heir to the throne of Asgard?”

“I will,” Loki says, and his voice is lovely.

“And will you, Thor, my son, my heir, wed Loki, son of Farbauti, prince of Jotunheim?

“I will,” Thor answers, and Odin nods.

“Give me your hands,” Odin says, and stacks their palms together, then winds a length of silk around them nine times.

“By all the realms are you bound. May you never be severed.”

Odin taps the spear on the ground again and the silk dissolves in a golden glow that fades into their skin.

“Farbauti,” Odin says, tipping his head up to face the tall and far-too-slender figure that hovers over Loki's tiny form. “Could I beg you to tutor my brute of a boy in Jotun customs? He has not been at his books.”

“As you wish, Allfather,” Farbauti answers instantly, before Laufey can intervene and drag him back to his cell.

“Enjoy the heat,” Laufey sneers, and Thor sees Farbauti's jaw tighten.

“Splendid,” Odin says.

He taps the butt of the spear on the ground once again and rows of guards file in.

Odin turns to Laufey.

“My guards and I will grant you safe conduct to the Bifrost.”

“Will there be no celebrating? No feast?” Laufey asks.

He has spent the past two decades looking forward to disappointing and appalling a whole host of Aesir. He was hopeful his insult would provoke Thor or Odin into attacking him, thereby breaking the peace. Failing that, he has been praying that the wedding will be big and noisy enough that no one will notice if his soldiers slip off to the vault to steal the Casket.

“Oh, there will be celebrating and feasting,” Odin nods. “Likely far too much and for far too long - Thor is terribly fond of both, I'm afraid. But not until the lads are in a mood for such things and have had time together to arrange it all.”

Odin steps forward and the guards file in at either side of him, forming a channel that only leads out of the hall. They all click their heels in unison and the Jotnar jerk at the sound. They have no choice but to move with the sea of gold armor, leaving Frigga, Farbauti, Thor, and Loki in their wake.

It isn't until they reach the Bifrost and step through the portal that the Jotnar understand Heimdall's smile.

Odin's promise of safe conduct ends here.

Heimdall sends them to Muspelheim.

Only for a moment.

Then back to Jotunheim.

Then to Muspelheim again, just to put the fear in them.

And then to Jotunheim once more, with a very long landing that churns up the ground beneath their feet and leaves them running to escape as rock crumbles away underneath them.

Laufey realizes his missteps too late. For, with a weapon like the Bifrost at their disposal, the Aesir cannot be matched. And, without the Casket, the Jotnar know of no way off of their own realm.

Asgard can hold Jotunheim to ransom.

Loki is in line for the throne.

And so is Thor.

Frigga sends for two dozen soldiers.

While she waits for them, she sets a finger to Loki and then to Farbauti. Their skin turns even paler, but they both sigh with relief. Their irises shrink as their eyes go green. The warm air feels welcome.

When Frigga's small army arrives, she instructs the men to pair up, line up, and link arms. Their limbs form a stretcher for Farbauti to lie on, which he does, gratefully.

Frigga leads them to their rooms. Thor scoops Loki up in his arms and follows.

The sights are overwhelming. Loki has seen nothing but grim guards, cell walls, and dim oily torches. His senses feel like they could burst. He's torn between an urge to lock himself in a cupboard to grant his mind some peace and a wild desire to run outside and never rest again.

Loki is pleased to find that Asgard's architecture is wonderfully open. Windows are wide and plentiful and have no bars or glass across them. Ceilings are high. Doors are vast and seldom shut. The breeze comes through and tickles his skin.

Thor's storm has dissipated and the sky looks impossible: it's as though all the colors of Jotunheim have been inverted. It's dusk and everything is orange. Like fire, melting his messy past away and leaving a blank slate before him.

He stares at the blossoms that decorate branches, head swiveling on his slim neck to keep sight of them for as long as he's able. He wants to feel them against his lips.

Loki likes the way his legs bounce and sway where they hang from Thor's elbow; likes being aware of his own weight without bearing it up. He's always loved being held. Lately he has only allowed Farbauti to lift him to catch rats that have climbed the walls, but when he was younger and they were both healthier, his father would hold him like this just for the joy of it, and Loki would be free of the weight of his ugly world for a little while.

The curtain of blond hair that hangs over the back of Thor's neck is warm and silky on the inside of Loki's arm. Everything about Thor looks warm and silky. And soft. Nothing like Jotunheim. Loki takes these things as good signs.

Frigga puts them in Thor's hall. She made it ready years ago. Four rooms on the ground floor that open onto pools and gardens.

She fetches Eir while Thor waits with his husband in his arms and the soldiers help Farbauti into an enormous chair. A captain pours water for him and they file out into the hall.

“What is that you're humming?” Loki says.

“Sorry,” Thor laughs. “I didn't realize I was doing it. It's a lullaby my mother was singing to me this morning.”

“She still sings to you?”

“Aye,” Thor admits, softly, and his cheeks blush faintly. “Though sometimes I don't think she realizes she's doing it either. She is two thousand while I am but twenty. She says I'll still be her baby for centuries yet.”

“Mine sings to me, too,” Loki whispers, and Thor sees Farbauti smiling where he sits sipping his drink.

“May we bathe?” Farbauti asks. “I don't think the healers will be able to see us through the patinas we've acquired.”

“Of course,” Thor answers. “The bath is through here, and you may use my head as the handle of a walking stick if you wish.”

Farbauti laughs softly and takes Thor up on his offer.

Thor sets Loki at the edge of the pool and opens all the gates to flood the bath.

Farbauti sinks in with a sigh.

Loki has never bathed in anything more than a bucket of brackish water. Never felt all his weight born up without bones holding him. Never felt the current rippling over his skin.

Farbauti helps Loki to keep his head above the water while Thor fetches towels.

Farbauti braided Loki's hair for the wedding. The only gift he could give his son in preparation. Loose plaits at the temples, meeting in the back and then melting away into what's left of Loki's curls. He had to be careful not to pull the hair from his son's head. Braiding was always one of their favorite ways to trade affections, and it's what kept their locks free of knots for all these years. Whenever their hair grew long enough, they sheared it with little blades made of bone, saving the plaits and setting them on their stone slab, slowly weaving a pillow. But, in the last year, their health failed to the point that the plaiting did more harm than good. Their fingers would come away with hair stuck between them as in the teeth of a comb.

Now Loki is carefully undoing the tiny pins of bone and letting the rushing water comb out the braids to spare the strands from his clumsy fingers.

He picks through soaps until he finds one he likes.

“What is this scent?”

Thor sets down the towels and leans in to sniff.

“Almond,” Thor answers, sitting cross-egged at the edge of the pool. “And if you hand me that bottle next to it, I'll wash your hair.”

Loki passes the corked crystal jar to Thor and Thor motions for Loki to come closer until Loki is standing in front of him.

“Close your eyes so the suds don't get in and sting you,” Thor murmurs, pouring shampoo onto Loki's head.

Loki let his guard down as soon as Laufey was out of sight. Farbauti does not find it so easy. He sits up at the end of the bath and watches his son.

“You'll have to tell me if this is pleasant,” Thor says. “Sometimes my mother asks me to wash her hair like this. She claims it's relaxing. I want an unbiased opinion so I'll know if that's true, or if she's just being lazy.”

Loki laughs, and then hums as the pads of Thor's fingers rub feather-light circles into his scalp. Loki can feel the foamy locks of his hair lifting, falling and swaying against his skin. Hear the soft roar of the bubbles popping. Smell the almond perfume.

Thor scrubs Loki's temples and then washes his ears, just inside the shells, lightly taking the firm cartilage between his thumbs and index fingers. Loki hums again.

Thor's fingers glide up through the hair at Loki's nape, going against the direction of the growth and cradling the base of Loki's skull while his thumbs scrub behind Loki's ears.

Loki's head tips back and parts his lips slightly. His teeth are bright in spite of everything. Thor hopes that's a good sign.

When Thor scrubs and kneads the back of Loki's neck, Loki moans.

Thor bites his lip and asks Loki to turn around so that he can lather the ends of Loki's hair.

Afterward, Loki carefully dunks himself and comes up smiling.

“Your mother was telling the truth,” Loki says, and takes up the soap to free the dirt that's still stuck to his skin.

When Frigga and Eir arrive, they send Thor off to the kitchens to pick up the cart that's carrying their supper.

Farbauti insists that his son receives the healers' attention first.

It's the first time Farbauti has felt like a failure.

He nursed Loki for nearly six years, knowing it would be the most nutritious food his son would ever find on Jotunheim. He only stopped because his breasts ceased to produce milk as his body began to waste from starvation.

After that, they both ate what they were given and whatever they could catch.

Breastfeeding had come with the added benefit of suppressing Farbauti's menstrual cycle. The starvation that followed had the same effect. Farbauti was glad. He was fearful of his heat drawing the attentions of the guards. As it was, the cell reeked of filthy skin, dead animals, and excrement. And the prisoners were glad of it. They built up a tolerance to the scent, but the guards got to leave every day to smell fresh air, and every day the stench grew more rank and kept the sentinels farther away.

Farbauti only abided Loki's refusal to eat more than his share of their meals because the tiny ration meant that Loki never had enough body fat to reach sexual maturity. Smelling like a child kept Loki safe.

But, now, seeing his son's fragile and sexless shape, Farbauti is fearful.

Frightened that the damage is permanent. That Loki will have a man's mind trapped in a boy's body. That he'll never make love to his husband. That he'll never be able to bear children. That his bones and organs have been permanently damaged by two decades of deprivation. That his lifespan has been substantially shortened.

Farbauti stares at Frigga's face as she runs her tiny hands over every inch of his son, finding every flaw and failing.

Sometimes green light pours from her fingers and Loki giggles and confesses that it tickles.

Frigga smiles often and teases Loki sweetly. Loki looks smitten. Farbauti can hardly blame him. Everyone who meets the queen of Asgard leaves a little bit in love with her. Farbauti suspects it goes the same way with her son, for Thor is lovelier still.

Loops of gold spin in the air when Eir joins Frigga and they go over Loki together.

Loki looks on, wide eyed and delighted.

“Is all of this seidr?” Loki whispers.

“Aye,” Eir says, and Loki follows their motions without blinking.

Farbauti told him that the Aesir possessed much magic, but he himself had seen too little to describe it in any detail.

“What do you make of me?” Loki asks, when they're finished, standing straight and bracing his slim body for bad news.

“Scurvy, but that's to be expected, and it's mild. Your gums are getting a bit bloody and you're bruising easily.”

Loki nods. He noticed it, too, but knew there was nothing he could do about it. Farbauti warned him early on that they would not be bargaining with their guards to get better food – they would not put themselves in the debt of their jailors; some prices are not worth paying.

“You are not likely to gain much height,” Eir tells him, and his shoulders sag a bit as he nods. “Half an inch, at most. But, once we've fattened you up, your blood will come and your body will blossom and if you're not careful, Thor will fill you up with babies before you know it.”

“And Thor's ears will never stop ringing from the boxing I give them if he doesn't let you take a moment to breathe before all that begins,” Frigga promises, and Farbauti smiles at this.

There's a vast, tall bed by the far wall, with a staircase on one side and a small ledge around it to let servants change the linens.

Frigga escorts Loki up onto it and asks him to lie down and rest as he waits for supper to arrive.

Farbauti has his turn with the healers, sitting on a cushion on the floor so that they may reach him.

His examination is faster, as he is merely malnourished. They take a great deal of care with his teeth, for Farbauti has scurvy, too, but beyond that, he is deemed fit.

“Food and rest at first,” Eir tells them. “Then food, rest, and fresh air. I'll be sending lots of small meals for the next three weeks, then larger ones less frequently as your bellies get used to it.”

She takes her leave of them.

Frigga asks if they'd like robes and Farbauti nods.

The dressing gowns are heavy quilted things that hold the newly welcome warmth of their skin against their forms.

Loki can't stop staring at his strange new hue. It jars him every time catches a glimpse of himself. Pale as bone. Though he wasn't much better before Frigga shifted him. He knows he's looked an inch from death for nearly a decade now. Every time the guards came, he'd see their deep blue skin and he'd wonder how much life was left in his own.

Thor comes in, pushing a cart arrayed with lidded platters. Odin is on his heels bearing a pitcher filled with a pale sparkling liquid.

The dining table in Farbauti's room has a huge sunken seat at one end for Farbauti and small chairs around the rest of it for his diminutive dining guests. They take their seats and Odin pours the contents of the pitcher into everyone's cups, though Loki and Farbauti's are filled the highest. Thor recognizes the drink as perry, and guesses the fruit it was made from came from Idunn's orchards. He had some a year ago when he was recovering from a wound. It works wonders.

“Will that agree with Loki's stomach?” Farbauti asks, catching the scent of the liquid and knowing only that it is as foreign from the offerings of his own realm as anything could be.

“It will,” Odin says. “And with yours, too.”

Odin and Frigga take their tired guests on a verbal tour of the realm to spare their legs. Odin gives them a scroll that depicts a layout of the palace for when they do feel like walking. Their supper is light and composed of roasted meats in citrus sauces and seagrasses sauteed in butter. Farbauti hums when he sees the seagrass, and is glad to find a good portion of it on Loki's plate. He had no means of getting these things for his son in their cell and none were ever sent down for them. They are not identical to those that grow near Jotunheim's submerged volcanoes, but the taste is much the same, and Farbauti suspects the effect on the body will be as beneficial.

Loki gets to use cutlery, which he enjoys both because it's new and because it leaves his mouth and fingers clean. And he gets to eat slowly, savoring pleasant flavors and textures; he has long been in the habit of pinching his nose shut to dull the taste as he frantically chews and gulps his food.

Odin teaches his guests how to shift their skin back and forth between Jotun and Aesir and then offers them glamours to wear so that they may always look like themselves.

Loki looks to his father to see what he'll say.

Farbauti declines.

“I fear it would conceal some ailment. I will take care not to touch any who might be wounded by me if I am in my native skin.”

“Were you wounded by me when our hands were bound?” Loki asks, eyes going wide as he turns toward Thor.

“No. Your hands felt cool, but dealt me no injury.”

“Thor has a bit of the sky in him,” Frigga says. “He can withstand the weather of any realm for longer than most. And much of our magic has passed to him.”

“Though he has yet to make very much of it,” Odin adds, and Thor goes pink.

Unobtrusive maids and pages slip in to clear the table as Odin and Frigga say their goodnights.

Thor isn't certain what he's meant to do, so he tries to fish for hints.

“There's a room for you next door,” he says to Loki. “Mine is just past that at the end, and there's one for both of us across the hall. You're welcome to stay in any of them.”

“Stay with us,” Loki says, and Thor sees Farbauti raising his eyebrows behind his son, but his face looks fond.

“By your leave,” Thor says, looking to Farbauti for permission.

“My sons are always welcome in my company,” Farbauti assures him, and steps up into bed.

Loki smiles.

“I'll wash up in my rooms and join you in a moment,” Thor says.

“Wash here,” Loki says, climbing up the steps and settling into bed before his father, who resumes his soft smiling behind his boy's back.

Thor is the first real gift Loki has ever been given, and Farbauti can see that Loki has no intention of letting the poor prince out of his sight for so much as a second if he can help it. In hindsight, Farbauti is surprised – and grateful - that Loki didn't protest when Thor was sent away to fetch their supper.

“Thank you,” Thor says, and steps out of his pretty wedding silks.

Loki looks on eagerly, taking in his husband's shape. His body is strong and his proportions are good. His flesh is smooth and bright. Muscles heavy and well balanced. Thor's sex is long and thick and swings in front of plump fuzzy bollocks, marking him a man as much as his broad shoulders do.

Farbauti can hear Loki's heart beating faster in the fragile cage of his breast until Thor disappears into the bathroom. It resumes its frantic pace when Thor returns a few minutes later, glistening with water and pink from the heat.

“Shall I put out the lamps?” Thor asks, as he scrubs his hair dry.

“Not yet,” Loki says, so Thor hangs his towel and joins them in the bed.

“Are you comfortable?” Thor asks, settling on his side, curled toward Loki.

Loki nods and arranges the blankets over Thor's body.

“We tried to make a bed of hair,” Loki says. “But we never got farther than the pillow.”

“That was clever,” Thor says, and he wishes the candles were out so he wouldn't have to try quite so hard to fight back his tears.

“This is better,” Loki says, and Thor huffs a tiny laugh.

“And are the perry and supper agreeing with your stomachs? I'm to fetch Eir if either of you feels anything less than well.”

Loki lies there a moment, listening, while Thor worries his lips between his teeth and waits for an answer.

“My belly isn't growling,” Loki murmurs. “Is that good or bad?”

“Good,” Thor and Farbauti answer, in unison.

Loki makes a pleased hum.

“I keep waiting for the realms to pull the rug out,” Loki whispers, while his fingertips trace the embroidery at the edge of the sheet. “Punish us for getting here. I feel so negligent. Lazy. Normally, we'd be setting out bits of our supper to bait rats for our breakfast.”

“Clever again,” Thor says.

“Lights out, little one,” Farbauti murmurs. “You need rest, remember?”

Thor is grateful for the chance to hide his tears.

The flames lean over and leap from the wicks of all the candles, dying in mid air.

“Was that your wind?” Loki whispers.

“Aye,” Thor answers.

Farbauti feels the space before him shifting and growing colder as Loki inches toward Thor.

“Eir says I'll not get much taller,” Loki confesses. “But I'll keep growing in other ways - I'll be able to bear children. I don't think I was ever going to be terribly big.”

Farbauti keeps quiet, granting his son some sense of privacy as he spills secrets to his new confidant.

“I'm sorry I never came to help you,” Thor says, and his voice is wet. “I never knew. I should have taken you.”

He's felt worthless since he saw his husband's starving shape. Disgusted with the ease of his own existence. Unforgivable. He believes himself to be an inadequate reward for a victory so hard won. A spoiled boy of twenty years seems more a mock than a consolation after two decades of misery and two lives torn apart.

“No,” Loki says, after mulling it over for a moment. “It would have been war, and we all would have died. I wouldn't have left without my father, and you couldn't have carried us both. We would have been cornered.”

Thor wants to argue. Wishes he could. But he knows it's true.

“I've been pestering Heimdall about you all my life,” Thor says, instead.

“What did he say?”

“Very little. But that was more than I could get from my mother and father. Heimdall said we were born in the same instant.”

“Twins,” Loki says, and he feels the pillow shifting and hears Thor's hair whispering against the silk as Thor nods. “What else?”

“He said you were wise and brave and beautiful, and that if I was good and lucky, I'd have a friend, lover, and brother in you until the end of my days.”

“How could he think me brave?” Loki boggles. “I've never seen battle.”

“You lived,” Thor says, and Loki can hear his father's heart beating faster behind him. “Few would have sought more food to fuel such an uncertain existence. Fewer still would have had the strength to let their hope stretch so far. Wise and brave. And I am lucky.”

“Beautiful?” Loki breathes.

“Very,” Thor whispers. “I wish I had words for your eyes. Perhaps a poet could find them.”

“May we have poetry?”

“I'll bring you books tomorrow.”

“I can read,” Loki says, and Thor can hear the pride in the whispered words.

“Perhaps you could read them to me. Your voice is lovely.”

Loki can feel the words when Thor's breath brushes his lips.

“I meant to give you a wedding night,” Loki chokes, shaking his head in apology. “I've always wanted one. I know it's not the custom on this realm or any other to sleep beside one's father on this occasion, but I couldn't-”

“Shhh,” Thor soothes, scooting closer and cupping Loki's sharp jaw. “Customs die behind closed doors. Your father will sleep better knowing you're safe beside him.”

“There are meant to be kisses,” Loki says. “And more.”

“Kisses are much; they're more than I've had,” Thor murmurs.

“May we have them now?”

“Of course,” Thor says. “Where would you like them?”

“On my mouth,” Loki says, so softly that Thor only hears it because he's listening for it so fiercely.

Thor leans in and presses his lips to Loki's. Their pouts are both soft and closed. They let the flesh spread and flatten where their bodies meet. Tiny wet pops escape between them when they part. Their breaths tickle against their upper lips as they breathe a bit harder. Loki hums when Thor sets a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“How will you sleep best?” Thor whispers.

“With my Father's heart between my shoulder blades and my head beneath his chin,” Loki admits.

“Make yourself comfortable, always – this is your home,” Thor says, with a parting kiss to Loki's cheek. “And wake me if you need anything.”

  


3 Recovering

 

When the sun rises, Farbauti finds Loki's left arm stretched out, clasping hands with his husband.

Thor is belly up, sprawled on his back, sleeping in the defenseless stance of one who has long felt safe. Farbauti looks forward to the day when his son can sleep like that.

Thor wakes moments later. He blinks his good morning to Farbauti as he rolls toward Loki and waits to watch him wake.

It isn't more than ten minutes before there's a fluttering of long black lashes and Loki is staring back at Thor. Then he's pulling Thor closer with bony fingers.

Thor scoots forward, obeying the gentle urging of those delicate hands until he and Loki are nose to nose, breathing each other's air and sharing the warmth of their skin. Loki leans in for kisses and Thor smiles and meets him halfway, nibbling Loki's thin lips carefully and setting their foreheads together.

At the sound of footsteps in the hall, Farbauti's arm comes up and his hand shields Loki's head while his forearm blocks Loki's body. His leg curls protectively around both Loki and Thor.

“It's my mother,” Thor says, knowing her footsteps as well as he does her voice.

“Please, come in,” Farbauti calls, when there's a knock on the door.

When he sees that Thor's assessment is accurate, he uncovers the kissing princes, who are now tracing each other's faces with the pads of their fingers and humming soft happy sounds.

“Did you sleep well? Frigga asks, climbing the stairs and standing beside the bed, smiling down at Loki and Thor, who are not paying attention.

Farbauti nods and gestures to the bed, inviting Frigga to join them.

Thor squeals against Loki's lips when Frigga pinches his bottom.

“She pinched me,” Thor explains, when Loki makes a worried face.

“Some bottoms were made for pinching,” Frigga says, and settles in behind her son, propping her head up on her hand and leaning over to peek at two flushed princes.

“Father says I got mine from you,” Thor whispers, and Frigga's eyes go wide while the bed shakes with the laughter that Farbauti is failing to suppress.

“I slept well, my queen,” Loki answers, once his mind remembers her question.

“I am glad to hear it. And you may call me Frigga, or Mother, or something of your own devising.”

“Pinchable Callipygous One,” Thor offers, and Frigga pinches him again, making him yelp and making Loki giggle.

Then she settles in and reaches over Thor's shoulder to smooth Loki's hair back from his face and trace his features.

Farbauti wants to kiss the tiny goddess. She has subtly made the princes equals, each with a parent at their back on what is meant to be their honeymoon. She's letting Loki see how she loves her own son so that Thor is every bit as exposed as Loki is; so that Thor looks every bit as young and inexperienced. Farbauti wants to kiss Thor, too, because Loki can also see how Thor adores his mother. Thor hasn't frowned or rolled his eyes or shrugged her off. His face is beaming. He's watching Frigga's fingers as they thread through the hair at Loki's temple. Watching Loki's lips curve into a smile. Squeezing Loki's hand softly and leaning in to give him kisses.

“I'll be back in a few minutes with your breakfast,” Frigga says. “But first I'd like to listen to your bellies.”

Loki nods and Frigga rests on Thor as she leans down to set her ear to Loki's flank. She hears healthy bubbling and gurgling – not the silence of a blockage or the groans and squeaks of too much gas. She kisses Loki's side and then Farbauti get the same treatment. Even the kiss. If he weren't so bewildered he'd blush.

Frigga pronounces them fit and leaves to bring their meal.

“There's a bathroom down the hall that's more our size,” Thor says, rising and taking Loki's hand.

Farbauti waits to see how Loki will react to being out of his father's sight.

Thor helps his husband down the stairs and together they walk slowly across the room with Thor's arm around Loki's waist.

Loki turns his head to look back at his father as they go through the doorway, and Loki smiles like he's going on an adventure.

Farbauti returns his son's expression and wills himself to stay in the bed instead of following the boy - in part to keep from falling, for his legs are shaking.

He listens to the low rumble of Thor's voice as it bounces from the high ceilings in the hallway. And then he hears happy sighs and two streams of piss splashing into a toilet. Thor hasn't shut the door. Indeed, Farbauti hasn't seen Thor shut any doors behind himself since they've arrived. He supposes it's possible that Thor is accustomed to other people doing that for him, but he suspects Thor is doing it deliberately, to prevent any feelings of imprisonment.

Farbauti wasn't bothered by the shut bedroom door overnight, but he finds he appreciates the open doors now, letting him know his son is safe and healthy. He can hear Loki's rounder, softer words echoing off smooth stone surfaces. Hear water running. Hear Loki asking about the scents of all the soaps, creams, and oils. Hear Thor's answers. Hear two sets of bare feet padding back down the hall before the sleepy naked youths reappear and slip back into the room.

“May we go out there?” Loki asks, pointing to the veranda, and Thor nods and leads him out.

There are tree branches close enough for Loki to touch, and he's able to press his lips to flower petals. The blossoms look crystalline but feel like cool flesh and the scent holds Loki's attention for many minutes. Then birds dart by and distract him.

“What were those?”

“Swallows.”

“They're so fast.”

“They're chasing their breakfast. Catching tiny insects. At night there are bats that do much the same thing.”

Loki hums. Thor begins a mental list of books he needs to bring to Loki so that he may explore the realm from the comfort of the bedroom.

Frigga comes with poached eggs. Eir is right behind her.

Eir has a number of elixirs for her patients to drink to help their skin and joints.

Their meal is small, as promised, but pleasant.

“I like this very much,” Loki tells Thor, who is sitting close beside him. “It doesn't feel like meat.”

“There are at least half a dozen different ways to cook eggs on their own,” Thor says. “And even more when you add other things to them.”

Thor asks Eir if eggs can take the place of meat, not wanting reminders of prison to greet his husband at every meal. She says yes, for the most part, and tells him she'll ask the cooks to make sure that what meat they do need to eat has pleasant textures, vibrant sauces, and subtle spices. Poultry is unfamiliar to Loki and Farbauti, which leaves them plenty of options.

Thor sends a page to bring them books of poetry and illustrated guides to Asgard's flora and fauna. He puts a pillow on a chair to cushion Loki's bottom and they sit at a small table and look at pictures until Loki's neck gets tired. After that, they climb back into bed beside Farbauti, who has been lying still and listening to the murmur of the boys' voices. Watching them lean into each other. Hearing them flirt with each other. Marveling at the way Thor's fingers skate lightly down Loki's back and rub his shoulders independent of Thor's focus or conversation. Affection comes as easily to the blond as breathing. It floods Farbauti with relief.

After another meal, Thor reads poems to Loki as they lie side by side. Loki promises he'll return the favor once his arms don't tire so easily and he's able to rest the book on his chest without being bruised by the binding.

Eir comes every two hours with medicine and food. There are eggs at all their meals: fried, both over hard and over easy; baked in little loaves of bread; hard-boiled; soft-boiled; and scrambled. There is also more seagrass and some fresh fruits and vegetables native only to Asgard. Eir asks her patients to spit out anything they dislike immediately, as their tongues are the best gauge of what will be likely to disagree with their stomachs.

The food leaves Loki sleepy, so the princes nap in the early afternoon. Loki backs up against Thor in bed and Thor curls around the thin body, slipping his left arm under Loki's neck and his right around Loki's waist. They're both facing Farbauti. Thor feels vaguely guilty for holding his husband this way – worried that he has stolen this intimacy from Farbauti, and fearful that the theft stings.

Loki has had a husband waiting for him here all this time, but who there is for Farbauti, Thor isn't sure. Three thousand years is a long time to have to live alone.

Thor sleeps for an hour and wakes to find Farbauti's eyes on his face.

There was something familiar about the giant's visage the first time Thor saw it. And now he knows what it is: Sif. Farbauti could be Sif's brother, the resemblance is so striking. Thor wonders if his best friend has some elvish in her.

He has missed her for much of the last year. She met a soldier - a lovely man who loves her madly, as she does him. Thor could sense the unease that rose in the man when Thor would visit Sif, and Sif was always distracted whenever Thor succeeded in persuading her to come away with him on some hunt or quest.

Now Thor understands why.

He doesn't want to leave Loki's side.

Doesn't want to miss something.

Doesn't want to relinquish this strange paradox he's living in.

He has the impossible feeling that the realms have been reduced to nothing more than their tiny breathing bodies. He is keenly aware of the way their fragile forms seek comfort in the soft bed and in each other. And he feels drawn to Loki's body, wanting to be touching him at all times, even if it's just their knees pressed together between them as they sit at the dinner table. But he wants Loki closer. Wants to be melted down with him in some strange crucible and poured into a new mold – a spherical shape that would let every fiber of their beings be as close together as physically possible.

And, in spite of all that, Thor also feels that he and Loki are as vast as the night sky. Bigger than moons or mountains. That the realms have shifted now that the princes have each other; become smaller or more manageable.

Frigga joins them for supper, after which Thor rises and bows to take his leave.

“I should see to Volstagg,” Thor says, and Frigga nods.

Loki looks nervous.

“I'll be back before nightfall,” Thor says, leaning in and kissing Loki's cheek as he sits at the table.

“Who is Volstagg?” Loki asks.

Thor drops his eyes and opens his mouth to begin explaining, but his mother cuts him off.

“I'll tell him. Go, love, before it gets too dark to hunt.”

Thor thanks her and kisses her cheeks.

Loki watches Thor go. He still looks nervous, so Frigga ushers him over to the bed, props him up with pillows and sits close beside him. Farbauti sits on Loki's left, stroking his son's hair.

“What does he hunt?” Loki asks. “Is the game dangerous?”

“No, dear. He'll snatch a bird from the sky on his way to see his friend.”

“He's that fast?”

“He can fly, and birds as big as geese can't maneuver well enough to get away.”

“Does he fly with his wind?”

“Sometimes. But more often he flies with Mjolnir, his hammer.”

Farbauti's head perks up at this, for he has heard that name before.

Frigga tells them of how, as a child, Thor insisted there was a lady locked in Odin's weapons vault.

When Odin grew weary of Thor's constant complaint he humored the tiny prince and took him into the vault to see with his own eyes that there was no woman held captive within.

But Thor shouted, “There she is!” and ran straight to the hammer where it rested on a pedestal just out of his reach. When he held out his hands, the handle leapt into them. Thor asked Odin if he could hear how much happier she sounded when he held her. Odin confessed that he could not, but said he'd take Thor's word for it, and the thing lived at Thor's hip after that - until two years ago, when Thor lost his temper.

There had been unrest on Midgard, as ever, and Odin sent soldiers to settle it. Thor asked to accompany them, eager to prove himself in battle, but Odin said no. Thor's anger manifested as a storm so fierce it felled trees. The tempest followed him as he flew out to a favorite island off the coast. The rain washed a young man's house down a hill with him still in it. His arm was broken as the building splintered around him.

Odin came on Sleipnir and snatched up Thor and the hammer. He dropped the former at the house he had destroyed. Odin took the man – Volstagg - to a healer.

Thor stayed to clean up his mess. He put Volstagg up in an inn while he rebuilt the house by hand. And, ever since, he has hunted for Volstagg, whose arm has entirely recovered, but who has become one of Thor's closest friends. Volstagg is unfailingly jolly, doesn't hold a grudge, and is the only one on the realm with an appetite that can rival Thor's.

“And he has the hammer again,” Loki says, remembering Frigga's words.

“He does,” Frigga nods. “There was a house on fire. A year ago now. Thor could smell it as he was walking home from visiting Volstagg and he could hear screaming. A woman was trapped upstairs. Her husband had started the fire and was watching, but Thor didn't know that part. Thor stood under the window asking her to jump so he could catch her. But she wouldn't jump, of course, because she'd be no safer on the ground with her spouse. So Thor ran in, grabbed her, and hauled her out the window with him. Her husband came at her with a knife as soon as they hit the ground. Thor blocked it with his ribs, which wasn't very bright, but it worked. The knife stuck in the bone, and while the man tried to pull it out, Thor broke his neck like a twig. Then he carried the woman to a healer. He was so sooty from running through the fire no one noticed the blood on him, and Thor was so upset and distracted he forgot about it. Heimdall sent a guard to warn me that my son was sitting in the barn with his favorite mare, bleeding.”

Loki is crying.

“Eir and I fixed him up,” Frigga soothes. “And Odin gave the hammer back so our silly boy wouldn't go blundering through the realm unarmed. Wouldn't run through burning houses when he could fly up to windows. Wouldn't block blades with his bones instead of uru.”

“Why did the man want to murder his wife?” Loki whispers.

“Pride,” Frigga sighs. “And jealousy. She was with child, and he knew the baby could not be his. And still she loved him. That was the hardest part for Thor; he had broken her heart when he saved her life. She had hoped her husband would be glad. Planned to raise the baby with him. Loved him no less - merely loved someone else, too.”

“I don't love my father less because I love Thor,” Loki notes.

“Precisely. And I don't love Thor any less from loving you.”

“Do Thor's ribs still ache?”

“No. He's a resilient thing. You two have that in common, I think."

 

Volstagg is surprised when Thor knocks on his door that night with a goose in his hand.

“Congratulations!” Volstagg bellows, hoisting Thor into the air. “Do not mistake me - I am pleased to see you - but what are you doing here? You are a newlywed.”

“I promised I'd hunt for you whenever I was free to do so,” Thor answers.

“I've been hunting on my own for almost a year now. I should have released you from your promise sooner, but I did not wish to lose your company.”

“You'll not lose my company.”

“I release you from your promise nonetheless. Get back to your young man. Unless you are trying to escape him.”

“No,” Thor laughs. “He's lovely.”

“And when shall I meet him?” Volstagg asks, beaming.

Thor frowns and bites his lip.

“I'll ask him. He... isn't entirely well. But I'll see if he's up for company.”

“Is the heat wearing on him?”

“No,” Thor says, shaking his head. “My mother gave him Aesir skin. Farbauti, too.”

“Farbauti is here?” Volstagg asks, softly.

And Thor tells his friend everything he knows while Volstagg reddens, frowns, and weeps. At the end of it, he shakes himself.

“Well, he's got you now,” Volstagg says, to comfort both of them. “He'll be all right.”

Thor's smile is grateful.

Thor is back before dark, as promised, and Loki is waiting up in bed with his pretty brow in a twist.

“Are you well?” Loki asks, as Thor settles in beside him.

“Aye. And you?”

Loki nods, but he still looks strained. Thor brushes his thumb over the wrinkle between Loki's eyebrows until the flesh stays smooth.

“Volstagg would very much like to meet you, if you're amenable, but you needn't feel obliged to be so. He is kind and cheerful. I think he already loves you.”

“I'd like that,” Loki admits, pleased that his husband is not ashamed and has no wish to hide him from his friends.

“I'll invite him whenever you like.”

Loki hums and smiles and lets himself sag against Thor, savoring the scents of fresh air and feathers that still cling to Thor's clothes. Thor smells like the sky. Loki is beginning to understand how that makes sense. He traces the base of Thor's throat where the neckline of his tunic dips low. Slips his hand up under the garment to pet Thor's waist and stroke his chest. Watches as Thor's breast rises and falls, deeper and faster, beneath his caresses. Sees the hard length of flesh trapped within Thor's leggings. Wants to see it freed.

“Your mother left jars of cream,” Loki whispers. “To put on after the bath. She said it would soothe and feed our skin.”

“Shall we bathe, then?” Thor says, and Loki nods at once.

Thor looks past Loki, to Farbauti.

“Your mother is coming with tea for me,” Farbauti says. “I'll bathe before bed.”

Thor nods and Farbauti gives him a wink and a quick grin.

Thor gets Loki's robe and wraps him up in it, both to keep him warm and to give him some privacy, because Loki has an erection.

Thor offers his arm as they walk side by side and it's the first time Loki has ever felt like royalty.

Loki sits in a soft chair in the corner of the bathroom while Thor fills the pool and steps out of his clothes.

The princes can hear Frigga knocking and Farbauti asking her in, and they're both pleased that their parents will be occupied while they wash.

Thor's cock is still hard, gently bouncing before his hips as he walks over to help Loki out of his robe.

When Loki first saw Thor, standing tall and broad in front of him, his heart rose and sank all at once. He was delighted by Thor's beauty and strength, as he'd imagined the Aesir to be homely and feeble. But Loki realized that he was the fragile and awkward one. Skin and bones. Barely able to move because his body had devoured most of its own muscles in its quest to stay alive. Loki didn't think that Thor would want him. But here he is, breathing hard and looking at Loki like he's something worth having. And Loki's poor form is doing its best to meet Thor halfway. Thor can see Loki's penis straining up in his lap, peeking out where the robe has parted. And he can hear the breaths panting out of Loki's lungs.

It's making Thor a bit nervous, because he doesn't want to put his spouse under any strain.

Thor slides the dressing gown off of Loki's shoulders and helps him down into the pool, then holds him up so that Loki doesn't have to do more than breathe and beat his heart. Thor spins them in slow circles so that Loki can feel the water dragging against his skin and shifting his limbs. Loki's hair flutters against his shoulders and tickles him.

Loki has done nothing to get dirty, so Thor washes him very gently and then sets him on the step to stay warm and rest while Thor soaps his own skin and scrubs his hair.

When he's done, he sits down and sets Loki on his lap, then kisses Loki's neck and curses softly.

“What's wrong?” Loki whispers.

“I need to shave tonight - my whiskers will rip you up. But my kit is in the other bathroom.”

“Will it take long?”

“No.”

“Good. I missed you today.”

“I missed you, too,” Thor smiles. “Sorry if I embarrassed you tonight.”

“How could you have?” Loki laughs. “You weren't here.”

“Mother told you of my tantrum, did she not?”

“Aye,” Loki nods, and Thor drops his head.

“You made a friend out of it,” Loki notes. “It was well done.”

“It was luck. He could have been killed.”

“You have good luck,” Loki soothes.

“I do,” Thor agrees, smiling and stroking Loki's back.

Thor leaves Loki in the warmth of the water while he hastily dries himself and then brings half a dozen towels back for his husband. He dries Loki with the first towel, wraps Loki's hair up in the second, lays the third, fourth, and fifth on the floor, and then lowers Loki down onto them before covering him in the sixth.

Thor sees the medicinal cream his mother left for Loki and Farbauti's skin. Two jars, one large and one small. Thor grabs the small one and opens it. It smells like beeswax and blossoms mixed with some sweet oil that leaves Thor's fingers slippery.

Thor coats Loki in stages. He starts by tracing Loki's face. Then he sits him up and smooths the salve over Loki's back, following all the bones and bending to kiss the nape of Loki's neck whenever Loki hums at his touch. The bones of Loki's pelvis are visible from this angle. Thor had never known that such a thing was possible in a living being. He decides to treasure these sights now, and pray that they will soon be buried under firm flesh, never to be seen again. He will know his husband's body from the inside out in a way few men could imagine. He is grateful that Loki is both brave enough to grant him this intimacy and hopeful enough to trust that Thor will love him like this. And Thor does. Dearly. Loki's body is beautiful. Happy and alive. The depth of its fragility today is evidence of the two decades of endurance that brought it here. This tiny form is home at last, and has become a conduit for Loki's pleasure. Thor wants to make sure that the realms atone for what they did to his husband, and he has no qualms about providing the compensation himself. He is happy to bring balance. Grateful not to be too late. Overjoyed to give delight.

When Loki's spine and ribs are shining with the oil, Thor lays Loki down and crouches by Loki's feet, reaching under the towel to find Loki's toes and carefully kneading the puzzles of bone. He follows the tendons up to the calves and caresses the places where muscles should be. He can feel the thin strings that remain of them, marking their places, and he makes a note of their breadth so that, when Loki is well, Thor will know just how much Laufey stole. Thor draws the knobs of the knees with careful fingertips, memorizing the bones until he knows them as well as he knows his own. When he glides his hands up Loki's thighs, he hears Loki's gentle moan. Thor looks to Loki's face and finds darkened eyes waiting for him. He lifts Loki's right leg and rubs the back of the thigh, following it down to the hollow where a buttock used to be. Loki's eyelashes flutter when Thor flattens his hand over the loose flesh. Thor does the same to Loki's left leg and then carefully straightens his spouse. He arranges the towel over Loki again and lies down beside him, pillowing Loki's head with his biceps and smoothing the cream over Loki's arms and chest with slow passes of his hand. He feels Loki's heart beating under his palm. Sees the faint flush in Loki's cheeks. Paints the bowl of Loki's belly and the peaks of his hips. Runs his fingertips through the joints of the thighs while Loki's breath comes faster and tiny moans leave his throat.

“May I?” Thor whispers, and Loki nods and then sighs as Thor's fingers slide between his legs, softly tracing the seam that runs along his center, separating his tiny testes. Thor can just feel them, like peas in a pod, below Loki's penis.

Loki is still hard.

Thor takes the determined stalk of flesh between his thumb and first two fingers and then strokes it carefully, watching Loki's face for clues. Loki's lips part slowly as he breathes harder, needing more air than his nose can provide.

“Tell me when to stop,” Thor says, remembering how this worked when he touched himself as a boy.

Release was not so much a climax as a plateau, and Thor could stroke himself through it for longer than he can bear to do now, coaxing pleasure from himself until the tension slowly leaked from his nerves.

Three minutes in, Loki starts moaning, breathless and high.

But he still hasn't said stop.

His hips are pumping faintly and he's keening.

He keeps at it for another minute before he sighs.

“That's all I can manage,” Loki pants.

Thor puckers his lips and presses a kiss to Loki's mouth while he carefully steers his whiskers away from Loki's skin.

“What about you?” Loki whispers, feeling the wet head of Thor's cock against his hip.

“I'd not last half as long,” Thor laughs.

“May I try?” Loki asks, eyes wide with hope.

“Of course,” Thor says, and rolls onto his back.

Loki reaches for him, wrapping Thor's cock in thin fingers. The flesh feels impossibly firm and deliciously hot. And Loki's hand barely covers half of it.

“What do I do?” Loki whispers.

“Just up and down, maybe an inch in each direction,” Thor advises, and Loki gives a careful stroke.

“Like that?”

“Mmmhmm,” Thor says.

But, within a minute, Loki's arm is beginning to tire.

“You can rest, or I can help you, or I can finish, or we can go to bed,” Thor says.

“Can you move my hand and hold my head up?” Loki breathes, and Thor nods.

He lifts his left arm to raise Loki's head so that Loki may watch, and then closes the fingers of his right hand around his husband's.

They glide Thor's foreskin up and down for another minute and Loki sees Thor's hips thrust as semen begins to pulse out, dappling Thor's stomach and dribbling down onto their thumbs.

Loki drags his wasted limb to his lips to taste Thor's seed.

Loki is smiling. His eyes are glassy and his cheeks are flushed. His breath is slowing.

Thor cleans them up again and wraps Loki in the robe once more, then scoops him up and carries him to bed.

Frigga and Farbauti are there with a tray between them. Thor sees two empty teacups, a large empty dish, and a small bowl with something in it.

“Ooo,” Thor says, smiling brightly at his spouse. “You finally get to try dessert. Whipped cream and fresh berries.”

He leans Loki up against a pile pillows and then takes the bowl from the tray.

“Remember to spit it out if it bothers you,” Thor says, and slips the spoon between Loki's lips.

Loki hums and his eyes fall closed as the fruit bursts between his teeth and the cream dissolves on his tongue. The smile he gives Thor is ecstatic.

Thor feeds the rest of the sweet to his husband in tiny increments, wanting to prolong Loki's pleasure, then clears the plates and kisses Loki goodbye before he goes off to shave.

Frigga sees Loki's flushed cheeks and leans over to set her ear to Loki's chest. She hums as she listens to his heart.

“I think you need to sleep,” she says, smiling, and she taps his nose gently before kissing his cheek.

Frigga leaves to draw a fresh bath for Farbauti.

“Papa,” Loki whispers, so softly that all his father can hear are the twin poppings of Loki's lips as they press together and then pull apart.

Farbauti leans in close and kisses Loki's temple.

“What is it?” Farbauti whispers.

He sees Loki's lips try to form words twice before they're able to escape from their smile to make the right shapes.

“We made love,” Loki breathes.

When Thor gets back, Loki is alone in the enormous bed, sleeping.

Thor can hear Frigga and Farbauti talking in the bath and he's glad. His mother will be there to rub the ointment onto Farbauti's back. Thor won't need to wait up and do it for him as he'd intended.

He slides in between the blankets as carefully as he can, but Loki wakes anyway, smiling at him and puckering his lips. Thor grins and rubs his newly smooth cheeks against Loki's mouth.

“Better?” Thor asks.

“Like a babe's buttocks,” Loki says, nodding, and they kiss until his eyelids sag.

Thor rolls Loki onto his side and settles in behind him, wrapping him up in warm skin and nuzzling his neck until he hears Loki's breathing deepen into the slow rhythm of sleep.

 

Farbauti floats in the bath with his arms folded at the edge and his chin resting on the backs of his hands.

Frigga sits in the chair, holding towels for him so they'll be warm from her skin.

“On the eve of the wedding, I told Loki to plan for hate and hope for indifference so that he couldn't be disappointed.”

“Sage advice,” Frigga says, tipping her head.

“Insult, I think, in hindsight.”

“You had no way of knowing who Thor would be.”

“Heimdall could have told Thor who Loki was.”

“We asked him not to. It felt unfair, though it drove Thor to distraction. He wanted to meet Loki as soon as he learned of him, but Laufey declined our every invitation.”

“He didn't want to spoil his surprise.”

“I gather,” Frigga says.

 

The princes are still spooned together, sleeping, when their parents return. Frigga squeezes Farbauti's elbow gently in a silent goodnight and the giant stands watching his boys.

The closer they are together, the more striking the contrast. Thor's limbs are plump and his skin is ruddy. His hair is thick and glossy; it obscures his scalp, the pillow, and half his face. Loki's limbs are the shape and color of bone. The brittle wisps of black hair that shroud his head are so sparse you can see the plates of his skull showing through his scalp when the light is right. Farbauti knows his own appearance is no better, and that the two of them look like old men who've died in their beds. But there is Thor, smiling in his sleep with Loki in his arms.

“You are so much your mother's son,” Farbauti murmurs, and bends to kiss a blond head and a bony shoulder before climbing into bed and settling in to sleep.

 

4 Meeting

 

Farbauti is up and has the doors open when Frigga arrives. He helps her to set the table.

Lying in bed all day doesn't suit him. It makes his mind restless. Loki and Thor seem to like it just fine, but Farbauti can hardly blame them: new love is intoxicating, and the boys are both besotted.

Frigga calls, “Breakfast,” but the bodies in the bed don't budge, so she climbs in behind Thor and gives his shoulder a squeeze. He hums in his sleep, but stays under. She huffs a soft laugh and lets herself hold him, wondering how he ever grew so big.

She's relieved that he doesn't mind that she often treats him as if he's still small.

She rakes her fingers through his hair and traces the curve of his ear until she sees his lashes flutter. He slowly turns his head to look over his shoulder at her. His smile is sleepy and untroubled.

That first day, she feared he would break down and dissolve into tears. He had every reason to do so. But now the need has passed. No sense crying over what can't be changed.

“Should I wake him?” Thor whispers, and Frigga nods.

“He needs to eat.”

Thor leans over to kiss the edge of Loki's jaw and mouth his ear until Loki hums, stretches, and sags with a grunt.

“Breakfast,” Thor says, and Loki nods.

Frigga listens to Loki's belly. The cream and berries agreed with him. They're having eggs again for their first meal, but she'll bring cheese for their second.

In the afternoon, Loki asks Thor if Volstagg can come to visit. Thor says he'll deliver the invitation himself and flies off with his hammer.

“He'll be here in an hour,” Thor says, landing on the veranda with a light tap of leather soles on the pavers.

He sets Mjolnir in the corner and Loki wiggles his fingers, beckoning Thor closer, wanting to smell the wind in Thor's hair.

“Will you help me dress?” Loki asks, when he's done nuzzling his husband, and Thor nods and carries him next door, to the room meant solely for Loki.

Farbauti is sitting up in bed, reading, and suppressing his urge to keep Loki bundled up in blankets there beside him.

He's surprised at himself. He's wanted this freedom for his son for twenty years, but it's hard to watch Loki leave him, even though it's only for a moment.

Farbauti feels extraneous. He wonders how long it will be before the princes are sleeping in another room. He dreads and desires it all at once. He trusts Thor, but the rest of the realms still worry him.

“Mother said she wants you in deerskin and satin-woven silks until the scurvy is gone,” Thor says, and pulls items fitting that description from a wardrobe while Loki waits on the bed.

The room is all of gold wood and green fabrics. The furniture has curved legs and carved decorations. Nothing like Jotunheim. Loki likes it.

Thor picks leather that hasn't been dyed, so it's a pale sandy color, and finds a tunic in raw silk.

Loki's skin will look less pallid beside the light clothes, and there will be no chance of a dye irritating him.

They're loose, but they're the right length, ending just below the wrists and ankles. Thor finds a braided leather belt so that he won't need to poke new holes in a solid one.

“Do I look all right?” Loki asks, and Thor nods and leans in to kiss him.

“I like you better in your skin, though,” Thor whispers, and sucks Loki's earlobe between his lips.

Farbauti is at the table with Frigga, pouring the fruit juice she brought, when their flushed sons return. Thor is carrying Loki again so he can save his strength for Volstagg's visit.

They all sit together, drinking. Loki's eyes go wide at his first sip.

The stuff is something beyond sweet. Like the having the sun inside his mouth.

“It's tart, I know, but it's good for getting rid of scurvy,” Frigga says, seeing Loki's lips pucker.

When Volstagg arrives, Farbauti's eyes go wide. He had thought Thor was enormous for an Aesir, but his friend is bigger still. He looks even larger because he's holding huge flower pots under each arm.

“Wedding present,” Volstagg says.

Thor smiles and thanks him and takes one of the pots. Together, they carry them out onto the veranda and set them in the sun. “Blueberry bushes,” Volstagg explains, when they come back, bowing to Loki. “The branches are a lovely shade of red when they're bare, and in the summer they're covered in fruit.”

“Thank you,” Loki says. “I had blueberries last night, with cream.”

“With cream is the best way to have everything,” Volstagg assures him, grinning. “Congratulations to you. We're pleased to have you here at last.”

“Thank you. I'm pleased to be here.”

“It's an honor to meet you,” Volstagg says, turning to Farbauti and bowing low.

“It's a pleasure,” Farbauti answers, and inclines his head.

Farbauti is still wearing the robe. It makes him look a bit like a wall, which he likes very much, and it conceals his emaciation, which he loves.

Sif and Fandral soon send notes, wanting to know when they'll be meeting their new prince.

Thor flies off to invite them.

Sif wants to know if she can give Loki a sword. Thor explains that Loki can't yet lift one, and Sif nods. She heard from the royal guards how Laufey treated his consort and son. She had hoped the Allfather would be able to hasten their healing somehow.

“This is lady Sif, the goddess of war,” Thor says, and Loki's eyebrows rise at the introduction.

Sif and Farbauti stare at each other, stunned at seeing their own faces stretched over strangers' bones.

Farbauti is the first to break the silence.

“Our resemblance is a bit alarming, is it not?” Farbauti says.

“Dumbfounding,” Sif agrees, laughing, and dropping to one knee. “Welcome, my lords. I am your servant.”

“Thank you,” the giants chime.

“Wedding present,” Sif says, and hands small wooden boxes to Loki and Farbauti both.

“To wear when you leave this hall.”

Sleek leather pouches on light leather belts, and, within the pouches, knives.

“Are we in danger?” Farbauti asks.

“None I can discover, but one can never be too careful. Thor and I can teach you to throw and wield them.”

“Thank you,” Loki says.

“Rest and be well,” Sif says. “And congratulations to you.”

“Are we truly in no danger?” Farbauti asks, after Sif departs.

“Sif says you have the whole of the royal guard behind you. All those who saw you on our wedding night passed word of Laufey's abuse. Armies keep each other well informed.”

Farbauti nods.

“Still,” Thor says. “Better safe than sorry. I've had my countryman put a knife in me.”

Fandral comes the following day, kisses Thor hello, and congratulates him.

“Wedding present,” Fandral says, with a twinkle in his eye, and slips a book into Thor's hands. “And where is the beauty who broke every heart in the realm by winning you?”

He peeks over Thor's shoulder to the slim figure sitting on a plush sofa, then shoos Thor out of the way and kneels before the pale prince. He can see Farbauti through the window, walking in the gardens with Frigga.

“It's an honor, my lord,” Fandral says, and kisses Loki's hand. “Ah,” Fandral smiles. “Those eyes. Thor didn't stand a chance. There will be no saying no to you.”

Loki is blushing and biting his lip, looking down where his hands rest in his lap.

“Is Asgard to your liking?” Fandral asks.

“Yes, very much so.”

“I'm glad. When you're hale and hearty, Thor will take you to see every inch of it, and I'll tell you every fool thing he's done on it.”

“I look forward to it,” Loki laughs.

“So do we all. So see to your health and rest well, and send for me when you want Thor's secrets.”

“May I have one now?” Loki asks, and hears Thor groan behind Fandral.

“I thought you'd never ask,” Fandral purrs.

Fandral tells Loki that there's a festival in spring when all the women chase the men in a foot race, and if they catch one, he has to work for them the following day.

“Thor wasn't worried,” Fandral explains. “Because he knew only Sif stood a chance of catching him, and he was certain she'd want to spar. And catch him she did, but spar they did not. It seems her mother had been after her to be fitted for dresses. Sif had no interest in standing there for hours, being stuck by the seamstress's pins, so she sent Thor in her stead. She bound him up in a corset so his waist was the right shape, and off he went. True friend that I am, I didn't want him to suffer alone. So I accompanied him, along with an artist acquaintance of mine who was kind enough to take down sketches of the entire ordeal. I still have them if you ever want a peek. He's as lovely a lass as he is a lad.”

Loki's eyes are wide and bright and he's laughing and nodding.

“I'd love to see that,” Loki pants.

“You'll not be disappointed,” Fandral promises. “And the book I gave to Thor is for both of you. Don't let him hide it away. It's elvish,” Fandral winks.

“I don't know elvish,” Loki says, voice apologetic.

“That's all right – it's illustrated. And Thor speaks elvish perfectly, so he'll have no trouble translating it for you and teaching it to you.”

Thor is blushing and shaking his head. Fandral bows and takes his leave, blowing a kiss over his shoulder as he disappears through the door.

“May I see the book?” Loki asks, and Thor sighs and joins him on the sofa.

He opens it to the first page and quietly reads the words in elvish, then whispers the translation into Loki's ear.

Loki's eyes go wide and Thor turns the page, revealing the first illustration: a beautifully embellished drawing with delicate swirling lines depicting two lovers twined together in bed.

“Oh,” Loki says, and stares for several minutes, then reaches to turn the pages until he comes to another painting: a man on his knees with his lover's cock between his lips. “These are lovely,” Loki whispers.

Thor nods and kisses Loki's forehead.

“You need to rest.”

The next day, Thor and Loki stay in Thor's room between meals. Loki feels relaxed in it. Everything smells like his husband and the colors are warm and earthy.

Thor reads the elvish book to Loki as they lie side by side in Thor's bed with their erections pressing up against the sheets.

“Will we do these things when I'm well?” Loki asks, quietly.

“Aye, anything you like,” Thor answers, turning his head to kiss Loki's cheek. “Some of them we can do now.”

Loki raises his eyebrows and bites his lip as Thor rolls over and crouches above his husband, rubbing their noses together and softly kissing him. He nudges Loki's mouth open with tiny nips and licks, pressing the soft flesh with his own and getting lost in the slide of skin.

Loki slips his tongue past Thor's teeth and Thor sucks it gently and strokes it with his own, feeling the mossy texture of the taste buds on top and the silky lines of the veins below.

When Loki starts panting, Thor parts their lips and nuzzles Loki's cheek.

“May I kiss your cock?” Thor asks, and Loki nods and whispers yes as Thor kisses his way down Loki's body.

Loki's prick is pink and perky, leaning up to meet Thor's lips. Thor dips his head and kisses the bunched up flesh at the tip, then swirls his tongue around the whole length of it.

Loki's moan is low and guttural and it makes Thor's cock drip onto Loki's knees.

Thor watches the rise and fall of his husband's ribs and meets the bright green gaze that's burning down at him. Loki looks better already. His eye sockets are filling in and the veins that lace his form are not quite as prominent beneath his skin.

Thor slides his lips down Loki's penis, taking the foreskin with them, then swirls his tongue around the newly exposed skin while Loki sighs and thrills beneath him. Thor stretches his jaw wide and drags his lips over the whole of Loki's groin, feeling the testes catch on the tacky skin of his lower lip and hearing Loki hum. He laps at Loki everywhere, laving the seam where his quim lies hidden and feeling Loki shudder against his tongue, then catching Loki's cock between his lips again and bobbing his head in a gentle rhythm until Loki is gasping and bucking.

Thor keeps moving until Loki's motions fade and Loki says okay.

Loki sags back into the mattress, breathing fast.

Thor kisses Loki's inner thighs and climbs up the bed, settling beside Loki and stroking his chest.

Loki is grinning at the ceiling.

“Good?” Thor says.

“All I want. Forever,” Loki pants, beaming, and Thor hums and tells him he can have it.

  


5 Arriving

 

Loki and Farbauti make improvements hourly.

For Thor, it feels like watching a pot boil. The changes are almost imperceptible from one day to the next. But, at the end of the first month, he runs his hands over his husband and realizes there's muscle where none was before. Bones are slowly disappearing.

Hair has begun to grow on the giants' heads again, and there is now half an inch of it coming in beneath the parched strands left over from their imprisonment.

The first use Farbauti makes of the knives Sif gave him is to shear off the long hair hanging from his head, leaving only what is fresh and healthy. Loki asks his father to do the same to him.

As their hair grows out, the curls stick up at odd angles and lend softness to the planes of bone below.

Eir and Frigga have forbidden sparring. Riding, archery, dancing, swimming, long walks, and light running, however, are permitted.

Loki enjoys learning how to swim. Thor holds him up and teaches him to push the water down and back, cupping his hands to move the liquid away, then turning them like the blades of oars as he pulls his limbs up for the next stroke. Afterward, Thor dries Loki off and they sit together under a tree on a pile of cushions, naked beneath a blanket, making love to each other with gentle strokes of their hands.

Their first ride is on Sleipnir, at Odin's suggestion.

“He won't let you fall off,” the king says. “And he has enough legs for both of you.”

The horse is glad that his riders aren't wearing any armor and haven't made him wear a saddle.

Riding lets Loki see most of Asgard. He's surprised by the variety that exists on the realm. Snow in the mountains every day. Beaches forever warm enough for swimming. Orchards. Forests. Farmland. Meadows. Rivers. Lakes. Gardens. It all makes him feel rich in a way he never anticipated.

Frigga comes to keep Farbauti company as Loki spends more time out with Thor.

Sometimes they end up cackling about famous military blunders. They each have jaw-dropping stories of the missteps of their husbands, and there's no one else they can tell, so they're delighted to have confidants at last.

“Whenever Odin does something spectacularly stupid, I always console myself with the thought, 'At least Heimdall is seeing this too,'” Frigga confesses, and Farbauti grins.

Most often they walk between flowerbeds and speak of their sons, sharing the strange sense of loss they feel now that the boys belong, first and foremost, to each other. Remembering those days, two decades ago, when the princes were entirely theirs, sleeping in their arms and suckling at their breasts.

“Does your bosom mock you as mine does me?” Farbauti asks, gesturing at the loose sacs of flesh that hang at his chest.

“Aye,” Frigga says. “Sometimes there's the ghost of his lips on my skin, and I look down and expect to see him there, blinking up at me, fat and pink and tiny, with gossamer wisps of hair. It's odd now to have breasts and no baby.”

“These days it's odd even to have arms.”

Frigga gives Farbauti a sympathetic smile and leads him inside for wine, leaving Loki and Thor to giggle and fumble in the garden.

The princes slip off to make love in Thor's room every afternoon, but at night they still sleep beside Farbauti. Thor doesn't mind. It lets him sleep more soundly. Some animal part of his brain knows that there is safety in numbers and it sends him deeper into dreams.

Sometimes Frigga falls asleep behind Thor while he's reading and all four of them curl up to rest like beasts in a den.

 

 

After six months of consistent meals and cautious exercise, Farbauti is beginning to look like himself again, and Loki is looking like who he was meant to be.

On a cool misty morning, Farbauti and Frigga are off at the table, drinking tea and talking about an old book, while the princes are still tangled together beneath the blankets, belly to belly, with Loki's leg hitched over Thor's hip.

Thor wakes first and for a moment he fears that he wet the bed.

He peeks beneath the sheets and then makes a soft noise of surprise. The sound wakes Loki.

“Good morning,” Loki murmurs, blinking sleepily at his husband and then cocking an eyebrow.

Thor is so happy his eyes are getting wet.

“What are you scheming?” Loki teases, but Thor shakes his head no.

“You spilled on my hip in your sleep,” Thor says, softly.

Loki's eyes go wide and he and Thor burst into smiles and tears, sobbing onto each other's shoulders and startling their parents out of their conversation.

“What is it?” Farbauti says, crossing the room in long strides, worried at hearing the boys weeping.

Thor looks to Loki, who blushes faintly, but doesn't stop smiling.

“Oh, darling,” Farbauti breathes, relieved at seeing the grins beneath the tear-drenched cheeks. “You were dreaming of Thor.”

Loki nods and Farbauti sinks onto the bed beside his son and tugs him into his arms. He strokes Loki's hair back and then sighs.

“Your blood won't be far behind,” Farbauti says.

“I haven't even opened yet,” Loki murmurs.

Loki's cock has begun to lengthen and thicken, and his testes are growing plump beneath it, giving his labia a pleasing pout, but the seam between them still hasn't split. There's no dew for Thor to lap from slick folds of skin.

“Tell me when you do,” Frigga says. “I have something that will let you know when you're able to conceive – which will be possible before you bleed.”

Loki nods.

Farbauti smiles and looks at Frigga.

“We should probably kiss them goodbye,” Farbauti says, and Frigga bites her lips and nods.

“You're leaving?” Loki says, face falling fast.

“We're not going anywhere,” Farbauti soothes. “But you and Thor are going to disappear into a bedroom, never to be seen again.”

Loki snorts.

Thor hums.

Thor thinks of the day this happened for him.

He woke, hot and sticky, and was fretting about the mess he'd made of the sheets when his mother came in without knocking to tell him it was nothing the launderers hadn't seen before. She assured him he wouldn't mind the mess half as much once he'd spilled while he was awake.

Thor blushed worse than wine and hid beneath his pillows.

“Don't disappear, I have a present for you,” Frigga chided, and Thor emerged at once, wide eyed and eager for his gift.

Frigga handed him a pretty cloth sack tied with ribbon. Thor could feel a short heavy cylinder within it.

When he got it unwrapped, he found a large jar of salve.

His brow rumpled, for his health was fine.

“So you don't tug the poor thing off,” Frigga explained, failing to tamp down her grin.

“Mother!” Thor yelped, and dropped his head to hide behind his hair.

“Tell me when you need more,” she said, ruffling his blond mop. “And don't put anything beyond fingers in your backside, unless you long to explain to Eir that you've got something stuck up there and need her to retrieve it for you.

“I'd rather you'd cut off my hands so I wouldn't have had to listen to this,” Thor moaned.

“You say that now, but by tomorrow morning you'll be terribly pleased with me.”

Thor whined and tipped over in the bed, so Frigga smacked his bottom and took her leave of him.

She wasn't wrong.

 

After breakfast, Frigga takes Thor to her rooms to speak with him privately, granting Loki and Farbauti some privacy of their own.

“If you're like me, you'll get moody while you're growing,” Farbauti warns. “Thor will catch it before you do. You'll think your sulking makes sense, but I promise you, it doesn't.”

Loki nods and looks less than pleased.

“There will be a drop of blood a day or so before your heat begins, but it's easily lost in the bath or in bed, so you can't count on it. Your heat will stay for three days, and if you're not with child by the end of it, you'll bleed for a week. And then you'll be free of the hassle for a whole year, which is a better fate than the Aesir received.”

“How so?” Loki asks.

“They've no heat, so they remain more in control of themselves, but they ache and bleed every month, and must take care not to conceive almost constantly.”

Loki raises his eyebrows and wonders how Asgard isn't overrun with babies. And murder.

Frigga warns Thor that he will want to say yes to his husband. That Loki will be begging him to do so. And that, some day, they will do so and it will be wonderful, but that day needs to be years away, because Loki needs to live for himself before he can give his life to children.

“How do I tell him no?” Thor sighs. “The last twenty years of his life were one long denial.”

“I know,” Frigga soothes. “You'll have to find something that you can say yes to.”

 

A month later, Thor and Loki are out riding through a meadow on Sleipnir. Thor hears a slapping sound behind him and quiet sobbing shortly thereafter.

“Are you hurt?” Thor asks, halting the horse and turning to look at his husband.

Loki is holding something small and dark in his hand and there's a drop of blood.

“A horsefly,” Thor says. “Is the bite making you sick?”

Loki shakes his head no.

“I killed it,” Loki chokes, horrified.

“Of course you did. It was biting you,” Thor says. “And probably biting Sleipnir, too. That's not the fly's blood on your hand, it's your own.”

“But it only needed to eat,” Loki weeps. “And what if it was some sorceress who had taken the shape of an insect?”

“Well, she should have known better than to bite a thing that has hands,” Thor soothes. “And, anyway, you wouldn't want a sorceress running off with your blood – she wouldn't be doing anything helpful with it.”

Loki gives his husband a watery smile and wraps his arms around Thor's waist.

Thor decides to use Loki's fondness for having his cock sucked to distract him from books about seidr as often as possible.

 

A week later, Thor takes Loki to see lambs being born.

Loki sobs throughout the whole thing and Thor has to cast a spell to hide them so they don't disturb the sheep.

Thor doesn't understand it. When Thor's beloved mare gave birth, Loki was there and he loved it. He and Thor helped her deliver the wet leggy babe and watched it take its first steps over to its mother to nurse. Loki grinned the entire time and then they went home, filthy and beaming. And, yes, they were weeping, but it was that constant stream of tears that comes with having too much joy. This, however, is the stuttering, whimpering weeping of heartache.

Thor puts it together that evening when he approaches the dinner table where his husband is seated and sees the way Loki's tunic sits on his frame.

The sleeves are bending up to sit atop the shoulders.

“You're getting broader,” Thor says, and Frigga and Farbauti look at where Thor's fingers are tracing the seams of the shirt. “Does it hurt?”

“I have been achy,” Loki admits. “I thought it was from the archery.”

“That stops hurting after the first week,” Thor says.

Thor takes to rubbing Loki's shoulders in the bath and in bed. He likes it when Loki lies on top of him and they can kiss as Thor kneads the sore muscles and growing bones.

When Loki's shoulders are finished, his hips begin.

The ache is worse. It's hard for Loki to avoid using his hips, though Thor helps by carrying him as often as he's able. Still, Loki can't really stretch his pelvis, so the thing feels tight and swollen all the time.

And then there's the itch.

The cleft below Loki's cock is growing deeper and damper and begs to be scratched.

It makes Loki squirm all through supper, crossing his legs and flexing his thighs, trying to get his leggings to pull tight just right and crush the tingling offender.

The princes spend their free time soaking in hot mineral baths. Thor sits on the step with Loki in his lap, rubbing his husband's hips and nibbling his neck. Tracing the line that runs from Loki's taint to his testes while Loki groans in relief and goes limp against his spouse.

Orgasms help.

The ache subsides for an hour or two after one, so Thor gives Loki all the climaxes he can manage.

Loki's cock is now long enough to tickle the back of Thor's throat, and Thor usually sees to it that that's exactly what his husband's prick is doing.

Loki's testes are so plump in their fleshy lobes of skin that Thor can't keep himself from licking them. He flattens his tongue and drags it over them, hugging the curves as closely as he can and then following them up the base of Loki's cock, tracing veins and feeling the foreskin catch and slide with the motions of his mouth.

And Loki loves it.

It makes him understand the animals he's seen. The blurred blend of affection and eroticism. The way the act is both selfless and possessive. Soothing and exciting.

He spreads his legs wide and basks in the drag of Thor's tongue over these helpless parts of himself. Feels the ripening organs within his body fluttering. They thrill at the wet sucking kisses Thor presses to the seam between Loki's legs - the sinking pink line that marks the spot where wonders lie hidden.

Tonight, Thor is licking Loki with long strokes, starting just above his anus and flowing up to the guilelessly dibbling slit in the tip of his prick.

Loki is moaning and whimpering, gripping Thor's hair with long fingers and tugging Thor's face tight to his crotch. Arching his hips up to better offer his flesh.

Loki's keening increases in pitch as Thor quickens his pace. And then Loki is wailing, streaking his own chest with semen as his whole body flexes on the bed.

His orgasms white out all the realms. He feels fire in his nerves, burning like lightning in twin streaks that start at his testes and run up to his nipples, leaving a smoldering glow in the base of his belly.

“Loki,” Thor pants, and Loki reins in his unfocused gaze and trains it on his husband's face. “You've opened.”

Thor's chin is soaked, and Loki thinks it's saliva until he sees that the skin on Thor's throat is glistening and fluid is dripping down Thor's breast. And Thor's forehead is dry, so it isn't sweat.

When Loki shifts to sit up, he can feel that the bed is wet beneath him.

He bends to look between his legs and sees that the sheets are sopping.

“Did it hurt?” Thor asks.

“No,” Loki says, and flops back down on the bed, then spreads his legs wide and lifts his knees. “Do I look different?”

Thor peers at the flushed and shining skin, then gently prods and parts it with two fingers.

“There's a little gap now,” Thor marvels. “Like a tear.”

“How big?”

“The size of an apple seed.”

Loki goes to Frigga and she gives him sheets of paper that have been steeped in a floral tea and allowed to dry.

“Tear off a tiny piece and put it on your tongue,” Frigga tells him. “If it turns pink, you can conceive. The symptoms of your heat will be strange at first, and erratic. This will be more reliable.”

Loki nods and thanks her.

“How often should I do this?”

“Every day at least,” Frigga says. “Every time you're going to make love in a manner that could leave you pregnant would be preferable, but probably improbable. If you do it every morning with your breakfast, it will be easy to remember.”

The princes miss the drop of blood when it comes two months later, lost in the bath after it dried on Loki's leg.

Loki shrieks when the paper turns pink on his tongue in the morning.

Thor runs over to see if something bit his husband, then sees the strip of fuchsia held between Loki's fingertips. His eyes go wide.

“I don't feel any different,” Loki says, with a shrug, and wonders what all the fuss was about.

He finds out the following day.

Farbauti can smell it. But his nose reads the scent as if it's his own, because they are kin, so he's indifferent to it. It's the thought of what's in store for Loki that makes him nervous. The overwhelming sense of want you feel when your lover is close by. The way your mind makes you mistake it for need.

On Jotunheim, if you and your partner want a child, you build yourselves a sturdy - but comfortable - fortress of ice and stay inside, gleefully fucking, until you're too spent to do more than breathe.

If you do not want a child, you run as far and fast as you can for at least a week before your heat is likely to begin, and then you build a vicious, spiky, barricade of ice to keep unwanted attention away. Large prepubescent Frost Giants make popular guards, and couples pay them handsomely - with meat and stoneware - to watch over their ovulating mates if they have no family members to do it for them.

Thor will not be drawn by Loki's heat. The Aesir are oblivious to the scent. So Thor will likely have more than half his wits about him. Still, it will not be easy. Farbauti wonders if he should ask Thor to make himself scarce for a few days.

The princes end up in Thor's bedroom, as ever, kissing with increasing ardor and shedding their clothes. Letting the light of late afternoon paint their skin with its golden tones.

Loki keeps chanting Thor's name in a plaintive way, and trying to grind the tender folds of his quim against the base of Thor's cock while Thor's hips squirm away unhelpfully.

“Thor, please,” Loki breathes, and kisses Thor until they're both keening. “I'm ready now, Thor, I know it won't hurt. Can't you feel me?” Loki asks, guiding Thor's hand between his legs and sliding Thor's third finger into the tight heat of his cunt alongside one of his own slim digits.

Loki flexes the muscles inside himself and it presses their fingers more tightly together.

“Can't you feel how good it would be?” Loki whispers, and sucks on Thor's neck while Thor nods.

“I know,” Thor says, breast heaving. “I know.”

“Feel how wet you make me,” Loki gasps, grinding against their hands and biting Thor's earlobe.

“Let me taste you,” Thor pants.

“You know what I taste like. Show me what you feel like.”

“Loki.”

“Please,” Loki begs. “Aren't you mine? Don't you want me?”

“I am,” Thor says. “I do.”

“Then slip under my skin and spill into me.”

“I can't.”

“You can,” Loki counters, pulling their fingers out of his pussy and then pumping Thor's cock, swirling the wetness from within himself over the head of Thor's prick so that it mingles with the sticky drops clinging to the tip. “I know you can. I can feel you. You're so hard. You'll make me spend and spray, and my cunt will milk your prick just like my mouth does.”

“Don't I please you with my tongue?”

“Aye, love, but it's not the same. I want your tongue in my mouth when you fill me with come. Want you everywhere at once.”

“Kiss me and ride my fingers.”

“I need something thicker,” Loki says, shaking his head.

“Just a few more days,” Thor murmurs, breathing hard into Loki's neck. “We could kiss for that long. We could sleep through it.”

“I want to fall asleep with your cock going soft inside me,” Loki whispers, nuzzling Thor's jaw and stroking his chest. “I need you close to me.”

“I'm here.”

“Closer. I want to feel your heart beating inside my body. Can you imagine it?”

“Yes,” Thor sobs, nodding and gripping Loki's hip. “It's all I want.”

“Then have it.”

“I can't,” Thor says again, shaking his head.

“Why?"

“I'm not ready to be a father.”

“You are,” Loki says, teasing Thor's foreskin down. “I can feel how ready you are,” Loki purrs, cupping Thor's balls and stroking his taint.

Thor shakes his head no.

“I need you,” Loki growls.

“I need you, too,” Thor says, stroking Loki's cheek and pushing the hair off of his husband's face as they pant on the bed.

“Thor, please,” Loki sobs, and Thor's eyes well over at seeing Loki so unsatisfied. “I want you.”

“Have me,” Thor says, remembering his mother's words.

Loki draws a sharp breath and inches closer, but Thor rolls away and walks across the room to get a jar from a cupboard. Loki's expression is puzzled as Thor comes back to bed.

“I'm ready,” Loki says, seeing the salve when Thor opens the lid.

“I'm not,” Thor says, and stretches out on his back.

He scoops the thick ointment up with his fingertips and spreads his legs wide, then reaches between his cheeks to trace his hole.

“Loki, please,” Thor murmurs, as his head rolls on the pillow. “Don't you want me?”

Loki nods, and leans over to kiss Thor's lips.

“Then fill me up with seed,” Thor pants, pushing the thick unguent through the tight knot of his hole while his cock drips and bounces on his belly.

Loki nods and climbs on top of Thor, nudging Thor's legs apart with his knees. He moans long and low when Thor's slippery fingers close around his cock and coat it with the slick salve.

Thor fists his own prick and strokes it until it's slippery, then grabs Loki's cock again and gives it a long, hard pull.

“I'm even tighter inside,” Thor whispers, and leans up to lick into Loki's lips while he guides the head of Loki's cock to the center of his entrance. “Loki, please,” Thor breathes. “I need you in me. I want your seed leaking down my thighs for days. Want everyone to know how deep you fucked me.”

Loki nods and bites his lip while he lowers his hips. Thor bears down, crying out as Loki's cock stretches his tender pink flesh and inches into him.

Loki groans when his body bottoms out and his whole prick is sheathed in smooth clenching heat.

“I can feel your pulse,” Thor pants.

Loki's cock is twitching with every beat of his heart, tapping against the walls of Thor's ass and making Thor's cock quiver with the promise of what's to come.

“Now let me feel your seed pulsing into me,” Thor growls.

Loki hums. He leans back until he's nearly free of Thor's body and then drives forward to give Thor a firm thrust.

Thor's eyes roll back in his head.

“Loki, more.”

Thor's cock burns on his belly as he writhes on the bed. The fat head of Loki's cock is tormenting him somehow, as if it's prodding the core of Thor's prick with every pass.

And Thor's hole feels so good around Loki's cock, Loki can barely think. His orgasm is building through his whole body. His cunt is leaking a constant stream of thick clear liquid down his thighs and along his prick. It's making Thor even wetter inside.

The thought makes Loki's hips fuck faster.

Thor is crying out with every thrust - sharp, high sounds that urge Loki on. And then Thor's thumbs are on Loki's nipples, pressing them against Loki's ribs and lighting up the lines that run down to Loki's balls. Loki shouts, pouring seed into Thor's ass while his cunt trembles and water gushes down, drenching Thor's tailbone and making Thor come.

Loki can see the drops of seed hitting Thor's chin.

They fall asleep for four hours and when they wake up they just do it again.

That night, they sleep in the bedroom meant for both of them. Thor sleeps on his stomach to make sure Loki can't sneak a ride on his prick.

Farbauti lies awake in bed, waiting for the footsteps of his boys.

He passes an hour in silence before he hears a single set of slippered feet slipping in through the open doors that lead out to the gardens.

“Fledged,” Frigga says, sitting on the edge of the bed and setting a cool palm to Farbauti's hot cheek.

She feels him nod his head against her hand.

“Mocked by empty breasts, arms, and now beds,” she says.

“Aye,” he sighs.

“We'll have to find new uses for them,” she murmurs, and tucks herself into his side.

He hums and holds her tight against him.

“Will Odin kill me for this?” he asks, not sounding terribly concerned.

“Jord. Grydur. Rinda,” she answers. “You know these names.”

“As rumors.”

“They're truths,” Frigga says.

“You don't begrudge him his lovers?”

“No,” she laughs, softly. “How could I? He knows I've been waiting eighteen hundred years for you.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> please pretend commenting is turned off and please don't repost.


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